


Yellow Submarine

by wfftiwff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Artist Luna Lovegood, Athlete Ginny Weasley, F/F, Ginny Luna and Neville are all best friends, also the beatles, kind of angst but kind of fluff? idek what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-04-26 11:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14401359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wfftiwff/pseuds/wfftiwff
Summary: Ginny is going to a new high school in a new country, and, like every new girl is, she is nervous as heck. All she can hope for is that she gets a good spot on the football—sorry, soccer— team, that she can make a few good friends, and that nobody finds out that she's gay. Or that she tells everyone that she's gay, it goes well, and she spends her last two years of high school out and proud. She still hasn't decided which, and the decision only gets more difficult when you add in the Luna Factor.





	1. I Almost Punch a Spoiled Brat in the Face, and I Fall in Love, All in the Span of Twenty Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't know if this is actually good or not, so feel free to tell me if it sucks lol (I take constructive criticism well, don't worry). I think it's alright. Please, enjoy. (ps my tumblr is its-funnier-in-ancient-greek)

The smell of pencil dust and brand-new history textbooks wafted through the early morning breeze as Ron and Ginny Weasley stood on the pavement outside Warrensburg High School. The word “pavement” is a word used in the United Kingdom to describe a path that is paved for pedestrians on the side of a road. Although it was the precise word that the two Weasleys were thinking of, it is a word that would be considered incorrect in this context. This is because Ron and Ginny Weasley were about to walk into their first day of American public high school, something they were both anxiously awaiting.

Ron was gripping the straps of his backpack with anticipation and had a bounce in his step as he made his way towards the front doors. This year would be better than last; he was sure of it. He could feel his insides bubbling with excitement; he thought he might explode if he had to wait any longer.

Ginny was also gripping the straps of her backpack, for if she held on tight enough she might be able to dissipate through sheer force of will. As she walked next to her brother, her feet barely touched the ground, for her heart was beating so quickly against her chest that she thought her ribs might crack. This year had so much potential to be worse than the last. She could feel her insides bubbling like sparkling cider; she thought she might throw up.

“I think I might throw up,” Ginny said, as they pushed open the double doors and were immediately thrown into the hustle and bustle of students rushing around the school and chatting with their friends. Warrensburg High School was a large school with many students, resulting in many traffic jams both in the parking lots and in the hallways.

“Oh, come on, Ginny,” Ron smiled. “Don’t be such a Negative Nancy.”

“I am not!” she protested. A Negative Nancy is someone who is frequently a downer, no matter if their name is Nancy or not. Ron was oftentimes a Negative Nancy himself, especially when it came to educational matters. Today he was quite the opposite.

 _Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?_ Ginny thought, pondering the terrifying prospect of Ron acting the role of the golden child. Now she really was going to throw up.

A cacophonous crumpling noise sounded over the crowd streaming around them, snapping Ginny out of her speculation. Next to her, Ron had pulled an extraordinarily wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket, covered in coffee stains and god-knows-what. It hardly even looked like paper at all.

“Ron, what is that?” Ginny glowered.

“It’s my schedule.”

“No, it’s disgusting.”

He scrunched his face mockingly in response, still looking at his schedule. “So, my first class is… calculus. Well, that’s just great. What about you, Gin?”

“I’ve got drawing and painting.”

“Since when do you do art?” Ron asked.

“Since two fine arts credits are required to graduate high school,” she replied. Art had never been Ginny’s specialty.

Ron glanced again at his sully parchment. “Math is in the east wing, and I think the art department is on the way. I can walk you to class if—”

“No!” Ginny spat. “I don’t want my loser older brother walking me to class on the first day of school.”

An intense ring suddenly vibrated through the walls. It was the warning bell, which rang at precisely eight-thirty-five every morning, and gave both Weasleys a shock. However, the crowd around them brushed it off nonchalantly and began to break off from their packs, hurrying off to their respective classes.

Backing away, Ron turned towards his sister. “Well, good luck finding your class on your own then.” And with that, he slipped into the horde of students.

The hallways were cleared in a matter of a minute, and Ginny was left standing by herself, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted.

 _Shit._ She had come to the full realization that she had absolutely no idea where to find her class. This school was much bigger than her old school, in terms of population and square footage. Not to mention, it was built like a labyrinth of sorts, with hallways that winded back on each other and far too many stairwells for one building alone. Ginny was essentially stuck in the middle of a difficult maze with five minutes to get to her first-period class wondering why she hadn’t just let her brother show her the way. And, as any person who has ever been in a situation much like Ginny’s would know, Ginny had absolutely no idea what to do next.

She remembered before she’d stepped onto the bus, her mom had told her to stick with her brother and not get into trouble. As if she couldn’t find her classes on her own! She was sixteen years old. She could drive. She was a junior in high school, whatever that meant. She didn’t need to be babysitted. And with that Ginny stormed down the hall, determined to find her way.

 

No matter how much determination someone has, it is almost impossible to find anything when one hasn’t the slightest idea of where they’re supposed to go, and Ginny didn’t even know what floor she was supposed to be on. Her backpack was already beginning to give her shoulders knots. She knew she had passed through the science hallways because of the painted DNA strands on the walls, and she was pretty sure that the far end of the second and third floors was all English classes. Aside from that, every hallway looked exactly the same as the last, as if she was stuck in a time loop. For a second, she actually wondered if she was stuck in a time loop.

As she walked past the same bathroom for the fourth time, she heard voices echoing from the stairwells. Asking strangers for directions would make Ginny look like a total noob, which is a term many youths use to refer to someone who is not only new but also lacking in intelligence. It is one of the many labels Ginny did not want to be put on herself, but she also didn’t want to be caught ditching class. That would make her mother furious, and herself grounded.

The voices grew louder the closer she got, and more comprehensible.

“Oh, are you Potter’s little friend now?” It was a sharp, pitchy voice, definitely belonging to a teenage boy. And an annoying one, at that. “That’s real cute, Longbottom.”

Ginny frowned. The more comprehensible the boy’s voice became, the less his words were.

“Yeah, I am his friend,” clumsily quipped another boy, likely Longbottom. “Unlike you, I actually have friends.”

She hovered in the entryway of the stairwell, brushing the doorframe with her fingers. Lifting herself up on her toes, she peered over the railing to view the boys, who were on the platform that separated the flights of stairs.

The boy who presumably was the one with the annoying voice was slim, blonde, and was holding the other boy up against the brick wall by his sweater. Behind him stood two boys much larger than he was, more intimidating. Neither of them were blonde.

“I have two friends standing right behind me, dumbass,” he said, tightening his grip on the Longbottom’s sweater.

“Who, Crabbe and Goyle? You mean your goons?” the boy said.

The one Ginny assumed was Goyle, but could have been Crabbe, lurched forward, holding his fist but a hair away from Longbottom’s nose. The blonde made a snarky remark, and the other goon, who Ginny assumed was Crabbe, chuckled, but all of it was beginning to blur together in Ginny’s mind.

If you’ve ever had a bad day, you would know how frustrating bad days are. Ginny hadn’t even arrived at her first-period class yet, and she was already having a quite a bad day. She was incredibley frustrated. She wasn’t even sure about what. It could’ve been that she’d regretted neglecting directions from Ron, or that her mom assumed she’d get lost, or possibly the fact that she was completely and utterly astray, a word that here means Ginny was, in fact, lost. It could’ve also been that a seemingly kind guy was getting beat up by a bunch of idiots. It could’ve been all these things combined, and it could’ve been none of them at all. But something pushed all the thoughts out of Ginny’s brain and let all of the boys’ words go in one of her ears and fly out the other. She didn’t remember going down the stairs, or grabbing the blond’s arm and yanking him off the boy named Longbottom. She could only vaguely recall him laughing at her before she turned the tables on him, and shoved him up against the wall himself. She hardly retained his words when he told her she was “acting like a bitch.” When she tossled him back against the bricks again, her face landed less than an inch from his, and he asked her if she was “trying to make out with him or something? Can’t blame you,” she remembered that vividly, for she had to resist the urge to smash his head in right then and there. However, what she remembered best was how the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when she heard the sound of a woman behind her clearing her throat.

She released her grip on the boy and turned around to see a stern woman with a tight bun staring back at her. She wore a maroon lanyard around her neck, with an ID dangling on the end, indicating that she was a member of the school administration.

“I—” Ginny began to defend herself, but couldn’t think of anything to save herself now.

“She was just trying to help me!” Longbottom blurted.

“He’s lying!” the blonde abruptly contradicted. “Freckle-face here is crazy! She just came out of nowhere and attacked me!”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, yes it is!”

The two boys shouted over each other with defenses and accusations so quickly that neither Ginny nor the woman who was most likely about to give Ginny detention could hear either of them.

“Enough,” the woman silenced them. “Miss—what is your name, dear?”

“Ginny Weasley,” she said, trying to stand tall and appear responsible despite the fact that she had been about to beat the living daylight out of another student.

“Hah!” the boy cackled. “Weasley? That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, because Malfoy is such a charmer,” the other boy said.

“As I was saying,” the woman interrupted again. “Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, you will report to detention after school today.”

She began to walk away from them.

Malfoy’s jaw dropped open. “But Ms. McGonagall, I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, I think we both know that you did,” she said, looking at them over her shoulder. “You should all get to class now.”

They stood in silence.

“Go!”

Malfoy swung his backpack onto his shoulder and scrambled up the stairs. McGonagall rolled her eyes and strode off in the other direction.

Ginny twisted around to see Longbottom still slouched on the ground. He had a round face, kind eyes, and was wearing a Marvel t-shirt. Ginny thought that he ought to be better than that Malfoy kid by the dozen.

“Hey,” Ginny reached out to him. “You look like you could use one.”

“One what?” he asked.

“A hand.”

He took her hand, and he hefted himself off the ground. “Thanks…. For the hand, and for defending me.”

“No problem. I’m Ginny,” she said.

“I know,” he said. Ginny furrowed her brows. “Not because I’m a stalker, which I’m not. You just told McGonagall a second ago. I’m Neville. Thank you for not letting Malfoy beat me up.”

“You already said that,” she smiled.

“It seemed like it was worth saying again,” he smirked sheepishly. “I wish there was someway better to thank you.”

“Actually,” Ginny said, remembering why she’d approached him in the first place. “I’m a bit lost. Very lost. Could you maybe show me where to find my art class? I’ve got Ms. Burbage as a teacher. You don’t have to, though. You’re probably late, too.”

“No, I’ve got a study hall first hour,” he replied. “And I know exactly where that is. My friend Luna is in your class.”

“Oh, that awesome,” Ginny said, and the waltzed down the stairs side by side. Although her day had been going bad, she was now very happy, because she had hopefully made a friend, and a good friend can always make a bad day much better.

 

They rounded a corner, into a hall that Ginny hadn’t even passed through. They had spent their journey chatting about how the school was impossible to navigate. Neville had said that his freshman year he hadn’t been able to find his classes for weeks. He’d said that she’d like it here though. The American public high school experience could be hellish, but it was hellish in a particularly entertaining and comical way.

“So, who was that guy?” Ginny asked him.

“What guy? Oh, Draco Malfoy?” he answered. She nodded. “He’s horrible. His dad is loaded, so he lives in this huge house in Rolling Blue, which is also known as the Country Club District. It’s basically where all the rich people live. Anyways, the Malfoys are the worst. We hate them.”

“I can get on board with that,” she agreed.

“Here we are,” Neville gestured to a door decorated with doodles of dragonflies and flowers. “Don’t worry, though. Burbage is cool, she probably won’t mark you tardy if you tell her you got lost. It is your first day, after all.”

“Thanks for helping me find my class.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he opened the door for her. “And look, there’s still a spot open next to Luna.”

Neville waved at his friend.

Across the classroom, a girl grinned and waved back at them. She looked a little bit goofy: she was wearing polka-dotted pants, carried a book bag that was covered in many odd pins and appeared to have a few odd magazines in it, had corks and little rabbit charms dangling from her neck, and a very peculiar pair of sunglasses on her forehead. Her dirty blonde hair fell around her shoulders in silky curls. Her cheeks were rosy, and her pale eyes glittered as she smiled.

 _Fuck_ , Ginny thought. _This is going to be a huge problem._


	2. I Think About Girls and Being Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Luna sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, was the best description of the image that kept running through Ginny's head. God, if only it were the reality. Sadly, reality consisted of more anxiety and panic than lesbian kisses; if that weren't true, the world would be a much better place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second chapter. Please comment what you think of this so far because I really do appreciate constructive criticism. Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you like it!? ok thank you bye (also my tumblr is its-funnier-in-ancient-greek if you wanna like check that out bc i notify chapter updates on there and stuff)

“I like art very much,” Luna went on. “I’ve been painting with my dad ever since I was a little kid. Art has always been my favorite class in school.”

Ginny had taken the open seat next to Luna and began the mini-project the rest of the class had been working on: sketching an object in the room. She had chosen a jar of paintbrushes but hadn’t drawn more than an uneven line. Next to her, Luna was hard at work illustrating a shockingly realistic portrayal of her own hand holding the pencil, and chatting with Ginny as she worked. She talked about many things. She talked about how Neville was a good friend with a cool garden, about how Mr. Lupin, the English teacher, was the best teacher Warrensburg High School ever hired, and about an array of different creatures Ginny had never heard of, such as the Moon Frog. In all honesty, Ginny didn’t hear most of what Luna was saying, spending more time watching her lips move and thinking about how she was very pretty. Luna was a very pretty girl.

“What about you, Ginny?” Luna asked.

“Sorry, what?” Ginny blundered.

“What’s your favorite class?” she repeated herself.

“Oh,” Ginny nodded. “I-I don’t really have a favorite class. Football has kind of always been my thing.”

Luna scrunched her face. “Foot—oh, right!” she understood. “You guys call it football. Well, you are in luck, our school has a great team.”

“I thought you guys didn’t have a girls team,” said Ginny, as smoothly as she could muster. God, why was she such a mess? Luna was just a girl, after all. “I checked the website. And yes, I remembered to look it up under soccer, but I will refer to it as soccer over my dead body.”

Ginny had been one of the best offensive players on her school’s football team back in England; she would go to practice every day after school. If she would miss anything from her old home, it would be football. It wasn’t just her sport, it was her _thing_ . All her friends were also her teammates, she watched more matches than she did episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and all the posters on her walls were not of boy bands, but of the Celts, who were her favorite football team (Ron never let her live down her favorite team being primarily Scottish and Irish, though Fred and George were firmly on her side). Needless to say, Ginny had been devastated to find out that her new school didn’t have a girls football team. How was that even allowed?

“We have a co-ed team,” Luna assured her. Ginny’s eyes widened, she hadn’t even thought of that. “We didn’t have enough people to play for separate teams, which is kind of odd considering how big our school is. I think it’s because the swim team is so ridiculously popular.”

“People probably prefer smelling like chlorine over B.O.”

Luna snickered at Ginny’s joke, making her insides go turbulent. She was proud that Luna thought that she was funny. Plus, when Luna giggled, her button nose squished, which was kind of super-duper cute.

 

Walking down the hall, Ginny’s feet hardly even touched the ground. She was grinning from ear to ear like some kind of idiot. They had football! Her life wasn’t over! And it certainly helped that the person to inform her of this was a cute girl, who she happened to be sitting next to in art class. Ginny had a crush, as many teenage girls often do. Symptoms of the infamous crush include butterflies in one’s stomach (a term used to describe the feeling of both nervousness and excitement tickling one’s insides), heart eyes (meaning that one’s eyes would light up with infatuation when viewing said crush), and the inability to boot the idea of the crush out of one’s head. Ginny displayed all of these symptoms, and she knew it.

 _God, this is so stupid_ , Ginny thought. _Why am I so stupid?_

It’s true, Ginny was behaving like an absolute fool, as many teenage girls with crushes do. In her math class, she couldn’t pay attention for fifteen seconds straight. Though it wasn’t unordinary for Ginny to have trouble paying attention for more than fifteen seconds, and it definitely wasn’t unordinary for Ginny to have trouble being straight. However, today she was having an unusually hard time with both, even for herself. Ginny and Luna sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, was the best description of the image that kept running through Ginny's head. God, if only it were the reality. Sadly, reality consisted of more anxiety and panic than lesbian kisses; if that weren't true, the world would be a much better place.

As it turns out, Ms. McGonagall was her World History teacher, which was unimaginably awkward. Ginny’s mind had been so packed with thoughts of football and Luna, and more football and more Luna, that she had completely forgotten that she had detention. Her mom was going to be so pissed; she’d probably be grounded for weeks. Not to mention, if McGonagall didn’t like her beating up boys in the stairwells, she definitely did not appreciate her daydreaming in history class. And it wasn’t even like math; history wasn’t a class that Ginny despised. On occasion, Ginny found history a little bit interesting, at least compared to the other snoozefest classes she had to sit through all day.

“Miss Weasley?” McGonagall asked. “Would you care to tell the class what you are fantasizing about?”

 _Kissing the cute girl in my art class._ “No. No, thanks.” _Damnit._

A few of her classmates giggled, and she swore she heard a faint whisper from the back of the room.

“Then would you stop staring into space and begin taking notes?”

Ginny swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

When class was over, she was sure her cheeks were still as red as her hair. She held her books tight against her chest like a protective barrier as she exited the classroom, avoiding any possible eye-contact. But there was no need for her to have a barrier, and many of these people would have been absolutely fine o make eye-contact with. As far as logic goes, nothing had gone wrong. Sure she’d gotten called out by her teacher for not paying attention, but that happens to just about everybody in high school, or at least to every Weasley. It was not a big deal.

But Ginny had a feeling. Ginny had a feeling, a thing several people have been known to feel from time to time. It was a scary feeling somewhere between panic, defensiveness, and irrationality, and it was a feeling that Ginny had a lot. It was the feeling that made her feel as though she might throw up upon first entering the school, and the feeling that crept up on her at the most unnecessarily cruel times, like in the middle of a football game or during a big test, and the feeling that she couldn’t help but feel walking out of her World History class. Ginny couldn’t help but think to herself, _now_ this _is stupid._ See, Ginny knew exactly what this feeling was, and, more importantly, why it was.

She was super gay, that was why. She, Ginny Weasley, was incredibly gay and nobody knew about it. None of her friends back in England, none of her family, not even Fred and George knew. Fred and George were decisively the easiest people in her family to talk to since they took literally nothing seriously and were surprisingly good at keeping secrets (Ginny thought it was because they enjoyed the dramatic irony of knowing stuff other people don’t). But, even they didn’t know. Ginny had always thought she didn’t tell people because she didn’t want their idea of her to change. She wanted everyone to see her as the same person she’s always been. There was a flaw in that reasoning, though: none of the people at this new school knew who she was. It was the perfect opportunity. If she told any of these people, none of them could change anything about their perception of her because they had no perception of her.

So, why didn’t she just tell them?

Why did she get that stupid feeling when McGonagall asked her what she was thinking about?

There was nothing stopping her from announcing that the reason she had her head in the clouds was that of some pretty girl she had just met a little over forty-five minutes ago. Why couldn’t she just say that?

Herself, to be, or not to be? That was the question, and Ginny grew limp trying to answer it. The obvious answer was clear if only she could spit it out. She talked so much, it shouldn’t be this hard.

 

For the rest of the day, Ginny felt as if she was being hurled back and forth on a swing set. One minute she was thinking of how Luna tucked her pencil behind her ear, pinning back her curly hair, and the next she was worrying that someone knew exactly what she was thinking about. It didn’t help that she had eaten lunch with Ron, or that her chemistry teacher, Mr. Snape, was literally the Devil. Plus there was the ever-foreboding threat of having to deal with explaining the fact that she got detention on the first day of school to her mother. It really wasn’t her day.

Speaking of detention, detention was absolutely nightmare-ish. It was not held by McGonagall, as she had assumed, to which she had first been relieved. At least whoever this random teacher may be, this teacher hadn’t already gotten her in trouble in the halls and called her out for daydreaming, embarrassing her in front of all her classmates. McGonagall had to be the most ruthlessly strict teacher in the school, with the exception of Snape, though Snape was less strictly ruthless. However, what she got was much worse than anything she could have anticipated.

Detention was held in what the students of Warrensburg High School often referred to as the language dungeon. It was a weird corner that was below the technical bottom level of the building, where all the foreign language classes from ASL to Spanish were held. There were no windows and only one emergency exit. Everything was dusty and worn compared to the sleek and shiny condition of the other departments of the school. But, by far the worst thing about detention was that it was run by Argus Filch, the custodian. When Ginny had overheard students complaining about him in English class, she’d figured they’d been exaggerating. After seeing him face to face, Ginny knew that they weren’t.

“Malfoy?” Filch snarled, revealing his snaggletooth. He was about halfway through calling attendance in alphabetical order.

“Here.” Unfortunately for Ginny, Draco Malfoy was sitting three seats down, and two back, from her. That was a few seats too close for her liking.

“Raeman?”

“Here,” a boy with a large pain of headphones spoke from the back row.

“Weasley?”

“Here,” flashing a smart-alecky smile, Ginny lifted her hand lazily to indicate her presentness.

Filched scratched a mark on his clipboard and made a vexed grunt. He hobbled behind his desk and pulled out a cardboard box. “I will be collecting all of your technological devices in this bin. For the next hour, you will function silently without them. And that includes those headphones, Raeman.”

“Jesus,” Ginny muttered. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the boy next to her, who Ginny couldn’t help notice smelled like smoke, replied. “Except on Fridays. On Fridays, he goes from sadistic to, well, even more sadistic.”

Ginny felt a nudge on her shoulder and turned around to see Draco, leaning over his desk trying to pass the cell-phone-prison to her. She snatched it away from him, and he made a humored face. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he quickly shrunk back into his seat. It made her momentarily happy that she was already capable of giving little pricks like Malfoy a fright. She plopped her phone into the cardboard bin and passed it onto the kid she had been talking to.

The box circled it’s way back to Filch in a minute or so. When he did retrieve it, he peered into it, the way someone making a soup would smell their mixture to make sure it was up to standard. Filch gave an unpleasant smile.

“Let's see how long you children last without being able to feed your little addictions,” he sneered. “It’s probably the closest thing I’ll ever get to physical punishment. Back in my day, teachers would’ve given you all a good ruler slap or two, but because of regulations, we’re no longer allowed to do that to you ungrateful children.”

Ginny mouthed ‘you ungrateful children,’ curling her upper lip in mockery of Filch’s snarl. The boy on her right chuckled.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that Miss Weasley,” Filch threatened unfathomably, as his back was turned. The boy contained his laughter with much difficulty.

The six or seven children sat in agony for thirty-seven minutes and fourteen-point-nine seconds. It became easy to keep track of time in detention because when one is forced to sit in silence and do nothing, time slows down to a mind-meltingly boring pace. However, in thirty-seven minutes and fourteen-point-nine seconds, the children were liberated as Filch fell asleep.

To test the waters, Ginny hit him with a spitball. Fred and George would be proud.

“Well, we’re good to go,” the smoke-scented boy proclaimed when the custodian didn’t flinch.

“Great,” grumbled Draco, getting up from his chair. “God knows I’ve been trapped in this dump for long enough.”

“Ah, not so fast you two,” said Ginny, halting them. “Our phones and computers are all still up there in that box,” she pointed the cardboard box sitting an inch from Filch’s head. “He might not be woken by a spitball, but I have a feeling his sixth sense in going to kick in if we try to get our devices back.”

“What do you suggest we do then if you’re so clever?” Draco asked.

Ginny shrugged. “Dunno. My mom isn’t picking me up until four anyways, so it isn’t really my problem.”

Draco looked at his watch, even though he didn’t have to. Everyone in that room knew that it was now two-thirty-eight and eleven-point-three seconds. The room was silent for a moment. Draco tapped his foot anxiously (and quite obnoxiously, as Ginny thought) on the ground. He checked his watch again: two-thirty-eight and fifty-one-point-seven seconds. He ran his left hand through his hair and wiggled his toes in his shoes.

“Alright, this is bullshit,” he finally said. “I can get my phone back later.” And he marched out of the room.

“Damn, Malfoy is really not in a good mood today,” the boy next to her said. “And that’s saying something because he’s never in a good mood.”

“You don’t say,” joked Ginny. “He’s actually the reason I’m in here. We got into a bit of a disagreement in the hallways before class.”

“Oh, please tell me you beat him up.”

“Well…. Yeah, I kind of totally kicked his ass,” Ginny bragged.

He smiled. “No wonder he’s in a bad mood.”

“What about you? Why have you been banished to detention?”

“I accidentally set a fire in chemistry again.”

Ginny nodded for a second, then took a double-take. “Wait, you set a fire in chemistry _again?_ ”

“Yeah, this is my second year taking chem. I’m taking AP this year, though,” he explained

“It wasn’t you taking chem two years in a row I was surprised about. You’ve set _two_ fires in the school building?”

He shook his head. “Five actually. Once in home ec., once in ceramics, and three times in chemistry. Snape really hates me.”

Ginny didn’t have any words, she just stared at him in awe.

“I’m not an arsonist!” He quickly defended himself. “No, nothing like that. I just didn’t inherit the luck of the Irish when it comes to flammable things. It’s actually really embarrassing. I once burned my friend’s toilet paper roll because his mom insists on keeping candles in the bathroom.”

“Wow,” Ginny gawked. “That is… something. Sorry, what is your name?”

“Seamus.”

“Ginny. Seamus, no offense, but I am never ever going to let you step foot into my bathroom.”

“None taken.”

She smiled, for she was happy to have made a new friend. Or at least, a new acquaintance. Not that making friends was difficult for Ginny; in fact, to her, it came quite naturally, which is a gift she knew that many people, not excluding her brother Ron, wished that they had. She was mostly happy to have made an acquaintance in detention since two hours of sitting in silence was not something that came naturally to her at all.

“Do you know who Luna Lovegood is?” Ginny asked him. _Why would you ask him that? You are on thin fucking ice right now,_ she scolded herself. _You were having a successfully normal conversation about arson, but you just had to go and mess it up, didn’t you? I mean, get a grip, Ginny, you literally met this girl like less than seven hours ago and you’re already acting like a bloody moron._

“Is she that girl who wears the funny glasses?” Seamus replied. “I guess I have some mutual friends with her. She’s alright, but a lot of people think she’s really weird. You know, loony.”

“What, people like Draco?” said Ginny, protectively.

“I mean, yeah,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t worry about her though. She doesn’t seem to care what people say about her.” _That doesn’t mean people are free to go around talking shit about her._ “Why do you ask?”

Ginny froze. “Oh… I, uh…. No reason, really. She sits next to me in art class is all. I, um, think that she’s kind of… cool… actually.”

She spoke softly, though she doubted talking loud would wake up Filch. She wondered if he was dead for a second until she remembered that the undead never die. She eyed Seamus, hoping he wouldn’t notice you-know-what, then wondered why she was worried he would notice at all. He was just some random kid in her detention.

“Yeah, I think she’s kind of cool, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you for reading my thing, I really hope you enjoyed it. I will keep updating chapters as I do intend to finish it, but I also have to keep up with schoolwork and studying and track and stuff. thank you!


	3. Instastalking and Fuss About "Soccer" (For the Last Time, It's Called Football!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason she didn’t mention Luna was unclear even to her. She definitely wasn’t worried that her mum would be able to tell that she liked her, as her mum was still under the impression that she was heterosexual. Then again, that was exactly what Ginny was worried about, but there was no rational reasoning behind it. Plus, if she did call Luna her friend, then she would be friend zoning herself, which is just a bad game move in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is chapter 3??? idk man, stuff happens, sort of. enjoy? (ps, again my tumblr is its-funnier-in-ancient-greek just, you know, FYI)

When a slightly battered Ford Anglia with a not-so-well-done paint job pulled into the car circle, Ginny knew her ride had arrived. Before she walked out the door, she said a little prayer, hoping it was her dad behind the wheel. No such prayers were answered.

As she swung the car door shut behind her, she could feel Molly Weasley’s disapproving stare weighing down on her. Did she dare look into the eyes of the beast and risk getting turned to stone? It was risky, but Ginny was never one to shy from a dare.

Her mother’s eyes were the same warm brown as her own, and even more capable of striking terror into the hearts of their victims. “Well, young lady, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

She had been hit with a “young lady.” Ginny was in more trouble than she had bargained for.

“He started it!” She jumped to the quickest defense she could think of.

“And what kind of an excuse is that!” her mum scolded her. “It’s the first day of school and you’re already off getting in fights! You know you could get hurt. Getting in fights with senior boys, that’s very dangerous!”

“I didn’t know he was a senior,” she argued. “He certainly wasn’t acting like one. The only reason I did it was because he was picking on this other kid.”

“Oh, please!” her mum stepped on the gas and pulled out of the parking lot. “You know just as well as I do that the best thing to do when you witness bullying is that you go and find the nearest adult. Any of them could have handled the situation much better than you could have.”

“I think I handled it pretty well,” Ginny muttered under her breath.

Her mother scoffed. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that. You know, you are going to be grounded forever after this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ginny rolled her eyes.

No music played on the radio, making the whole ordeal even tenser. The terms and conditions of grounding are always up in the air. It could be anything from no phone for a week to house arrest, and Ginny wasn’t even sure which was worse. She rested her head against the window, contemplating how terrible being grounded was, and how unfair, at that. Fred and George have pulled a million stunts much worse than anything she’d ever done, and yet they’d never been grounded. In their Seventh Year, they had filled one of their teacher's desk drawers with swamp water. Granted, Ginny had Mrs. Umbridge as well, and she deserved worse. 

“So, how was your day?” Molly made a sharp right turn.

“Well,” she began, “I got detention, and now I’m grounded. So my day is going just peachy.”

“Oh, come on! Darling, I am your mother. I want to know what’s going on in your life. There’s got to be something else that happened. What new friends did you make?”

“Ugh, mom. I’m not in first grade,” she groaned. “I guess I met this kid, Neville. He seemed pretty cool. He showed me how to find my art class. I also have English with him.”

“Ooh, Neville you say?” Molly teased. “Now is this Neville boy cute?”

Ginny felt a sharp pain in her ribcage as if someone had punched her in the chest. Of course, no one had physically hurt her at all. “Uh, no mum. No cute boys.”

“Alright,” her mother smirked as if she knew her daughter was lying. Of course, Ginny wasn’t lying, because she was gay. “So, did you make any other friends, dear?”

_ Luna _ , she thought, but she didn’t say. Instead, she said, “I guess met this kid Seamus in detention. He seemed alright.” 

The reason she didn’t mention Luna was unclear even to her. She definitely wasn’t worried that her mum would be able to tell that she liked her, as her mum was still under the impression that she was heterosexual. Then again, that was exactly what Ginny was worried about, but there was no rational reasoning behind it. Plus, if she did call Luna her friend, then she would be friend zoning herself, which is just a bad game move in general. 

“Anyways, I heard that the school actually does have football for girls,” Ginny said, changing the topic. “Well, sort of. They just have one co-ed team. Tryouts are on Saturday, and I was thinking maybe I could go?”

Molly swung the car into their driveway. “Well, you are grounded, so I’ll have to think about it.”

“Mum, please! If I miss the tryouts I’ll miss the whole season!” Ginny begged. “I can’t not play football. It’s my thing. And I know I could make the team! Fred and George have played for years, and I’m still better than them, and they’re boys.”

“I have no doubts that you would make the team,” her mum replied. “I suppose it would be cruel if I didn’t let you play football. But, you are not allowed to go to any of the post-game parties.”

“Deal!” Ginny blindly agreed.

Their new house was much smaller than their last one, but with five out of seven Weasley children now grown up, there was much more space. It was an average, one-story residence, painted an off-white. In other words, it looked about the same as every suburban home ever, regardless of country. Although it was new, and although it was nice, the Weasley’s held records in mess making. This meant that when Ginny walked in the front door, she almost tripped over a stack of paperwork, which a coffee mug full of orange juice was resting atop. 

“Oops, sorry Ginny” her dad called from the kitchen, where he was attempting to put plates into the cupboards, but couldn’t figure out which order they were supposed to be piled. “I really must learn how to clean up these messes I leave around.”

Arthur Weasley worked at a fairly boring government job that he found fascinating, however, he didn’t find the paperwork fascinating at all. And transferring to America, sadly, called for a lot of paperwork. Arthur Weasley also enjoyed orange juice but refused to drink anything from a normal glass.

“So, how was your first day of school?” Yeah, Ginny was kind of expecting that. After all, all parents ask that question, every single day. And the answer is always the same.

“It was alright.”

Of course, the response had some room to differ. 

“I heard you beat up a bully. How’d it go? Did he cry?”

Most parents don’t respond like Ginny’s dad.

“Arthur!” Molly scolded him. 

Arthur straightened himself out, concealing his glee. “What I meant was, physically hurting people is rude, even if they are bullies. And, also, getting detention on the first day of school is not a good thing…. Um, make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

He looked to his wife for approval, but all he got was an unreadable stare.

A  _ pew pew!  _ Echoed from the living room, where Ron was slouched on the couch with a controller in his hand. He was playing some video game where there are two teams trying to kill each other by hiding behind piles of junk and shooting at each other. Whatever it was, Ginny didn’t understand it, and as long as she remained the reigning Mario Kart Champion of the Weasley household, she felt that she didn’t need to. 

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, what have I told you about violent video games!” Molly turned her motherly rage toward her son, giving Ginny an opportunity to slip into the kitchen.

“That they help improve intelligence?” Ron bargained.

Ginny smiled as she crouched down to open up a cupboard below the counter because she knew all too well that Ron was not allowed to play video games on school nights. However, that smile soon vanished.

“Dad, why don’t we have any snacks?”

“We aren’t even close to done unpacking yet,” Arthur explained. “It’s not like we’ve had a chance to go to the grocery store.”

“Alright give me that controlled,” Molly demand from across the room.

“So we don’t have any food?!” Ginny asked in abject horror.

“Mum!” Ron complained as his mum tried to wrestle the controller out of his hands. “This isn’t fair!”

“No, dear, we have plenty of pasta,” he assured her. “And orange juice.”

It was hard to tell what anyone was saying because everyone was talking over one another. Ginny began to wonder how they’d managed to survive when there were nine people living in the house as opposed to just four.

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Molly asked though it was more of a statement than a question. “And that goes for you, too, Ginny.”

“Ugh, but mum, my calc homework isn’t even due until Wednesday,” Ron whined. “I don’t see why I have to do it now.”

Ginny snorted. “What, Ron, is American school not everything you ever dreamed it would be?” She distinctly remembered how annoyingly excited Ron had been for his last year of high school. It was super weird, he had always hated school, and not just for the school parts. He never joined any clubs or did any after-school activities. Ginny remembered that he had a few friends who were on the debate team, or did theater, or something along those lines, but she couldn’t remember him hanging out with them more than once or twice a year. And now all the sudden he was Mister School Spirit McGee. It didn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, it was actually pretty cool,” Ron replied. “Since I’m a senior all my classes are super easy electives, and I met this kid, Harry, in my ceramics class. The only problem I’ve got so far is calculus.”

“Then why did you take it?” said Ginny. “You don’t need it to graduate.”

“Yeah, but two of the universities I applied to require a calc credit,” he grumbled. “So, I have to take it, but it’s absolutely horrible. None of it makes any sense to me, and worst of all I sit next to this know-it-all, Hermione. Every time I get something wrong, she points it out immediately. Like, I didn’t ask for her help!”

She laughed. “Wait, it’s only the first day of school and you’re already behind in math. Ouch.”

“You’re a little piece of shit, you know that, right,” Ron jerked the controller sharply to the right, shooting down one of the soldiers on screen. Ginny chuckled, already headed off to her room.

“Language, Ronald!” Her mother scolded him.

She flung open her bedroom door and tossed her bag onto the floor. Flopping onto her bed, she clicked open her phone and tapped on her Instagram app. Ginny knew she should have been doing her chemistry homework, or the reading that McGonagall had assigned, but, in her own defense, she didn’t want to. 

Immediately, she saw several posts from her friends back in England. She saw Kenzie and Anna posing on the soccer field; Kenzie and Anna were always inseparable. There was a photo Hadley, Izzie, and Nicole outside an ice cream shop. Joe’s Ice Cream, which Ginny could remember going to every Friday after soccer practice. Ginny had lots of friends, she was incredibly popular. And, so, Ginny did miss her friends, and she did miss her life, but she didn’t miss any of it as much as she should. She scrolled through photos and photos of girls and boys smiling and posing and goofing around in familiar locations, but she still couldn’t help to think that these people didn’t really know her at all.

Ginny glanced from side to side as if she was making sure the coast was clear, even though she was alone in her room. She cautiously switched to the explore page and searched for Luna Lovegood. 

_ No results found. _

This was disappointing for Ginny. As you are most likely aware, seeing as you are reading this on the internet right now, that internet stalking plays a primary role in the act of crushing on someone. Not having access to said person’s Instagram, therefore, is thoroughly disappointing. 

Never one to give up, she tried a different approach. Ginny was aware of how stalker-ish she seemed at this moment, but it is important to note that at least sixty-percent of the teenage population behaves in the same way. She typed Neville Longbottom into the search bar, and sure enough, an account popped up on her screen. She grinned.

Neville’s account was exactly what anyone would expect it to be. It was an unorganized compilation of random pictures, none of which were troubled with being professional looked whatsoever. Most were of him and Luna messing around, and a few were of what was apparently his pet toad, which made Ginny laugh.  _ Who has a pet toad? _ Of course, Neville’s account was not the one Ginny was looking for. She tapped on his follower count (which was a solid one-hundred-thirty-two), to see the accounts of people following him listed. 

Sure enough, Luna’s account was easy to spot, under the username: quibbler.lovesgood. It was too early for this, Ginny quickly decided, flipping back to Neville’s account, and following him. She didn’t want Luna to think that she liked her or something, that would be horrible because it was horribly true. This may not make sense to any sane person, but anyone that has ever been a teenager knows just how little sense anything teenagers do makes. Ginny rarely did anything that made sense.

 

Oh, to be young and stuck in English class. Neville was doodling mindlessly in his notebook, as Ginny twirled her ginger hair between her fingers. It wasn’t that Mr. Lupin was boring them, but Baudelaire was. Ginny couldn’t help but think back to art class earlier in the day. They had taken notes on historical artists, which she didn’t understand. Shouldn’t they be doing art, not taking notes? There was probably something she should’ve learned from that presentation, but all she was able to take away from it was that there was a severe lack of clothed models in the Renaissance. Luna, however, was fascinated by the lecture and copied the slides word for word. When she saw paintings she particularly liked (usually landscapes, or anything with an animal in it) she got this involuntary smile in the corner of her mouth as if she knew something about it that no one else in the class did. Ginny suspected that she did; she probably knew more about most art than they’re teacher did. Luna was smart. 

Ginny could still envision the projector light glittering over Luna’s blonde hair, and the way she tossed it over her shoulder as she scribbled down bullet point after bullet point. She remembered Luna squinting at the screen, making sure she’d copied all the information she could. 

“Alright, class,” Mr. Lupin said. “None of you are paying attention to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Neville and Ginny both shook their heads slightly. “Well that is expected,” he continued. “It’s not like many sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-year-olds enjoy nineteenth-century poetry. How about this: instead of analyzing Wordsworth, you all will write me a poem and present it, next class? And it can be about literally anything you want it to be. Anything.”

Neville simpered. “So, we’re basically going full-on Dead Poets Society?”

“Yes, we’re going full-on Dead Poets Society,” Lupin replied. “Now, I am unfortunately required by Minnesota state standards to complete this lecture.” 

He continued to talk about Baudelaire, putting children to sleep, once again.

“Hey, Neville,” Ginny whispered, but Neville was too caught up in his doodle of a little house to notice. “ _ Neville _ ,” She nudged him beneath the desk.

“What?” he raised his head.

“Do you have lunch after this?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“So do I. Could I eat with you and your group?”

“Course you can,” Neville smiled. “You did

For a moment, they turned back to Lupin’s lecture. He had moved on to Emily Dickinson.

“Hey,” Ginny turned to Neville again. “Does Luna eat lunch with you guys too?”

“Yeah, she does,” Neville said absently, drawing a little tree beside his house.

  
  


The cafeteria was ear-splittingly loud, and there were so many students packed into it, even with the split lunch schedule, that there were several sitting in circles on the floor. Ginny was glad she packed her lunch because the lines for school lunch looked hectic. She and Neville walked to a table near the outer edge of the cafeteria, where Luna and, to Ginny’s surprise, Seamus.

“Wait, what kind of crazy coincidence is this?” Ginny asked. It was truly an odd coincidence that the exact three people she had made friends with were all sitting at the same lunch table. It was almost as if they were just characters, and this was the most convenient way for the story to move along. Now that would be crazy. 

“Dunno, Ginny, kind of seems like you’re just stalking us,” Seamus joked as Ginny took the seat next to him. 

“Hi, Luna,” Ginny said sheepishly.

“Hello, Ginny,” Luna grinned. “How do you know Seamus?”

“We met in detention,” Seamus said with a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

“Seamus didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s rude to talk with food in your mouth,” Neville said, slightly disgusted. “And, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you sitting with us today? No offense, it’s actually really nice. It’s just, you usually want to sit with other people.”

“Oh, yeah,” Seamus still had a wad of sandwich in his mouth. “Dean had third lunch on Tuesdays.”

“Who’s Dean?” Ginny asked, taking a thermos full of pasta out of her lunchbox. They needed to go grocery shopping, her dad wasn’t kidding when he said they didn’t have much food besides pasta.

Luna smirked a little in the corner of her mouth. “Dean is Seamus’s best friend.”

“Is he the one whose toilet paper you accidentally set on fire?!” Ginny exclaimed.

“Gee, Ginny, why don’t you say that a little louder,” said Seamus. “I don’t think the people in the back of the fucking cafeteria heard you.”

“Okay,” she made a face, twirling her spaghetti onto her fork. 

“So, Ginny, how are you liking school here in America?” Neville asked.

“It’s certainly different,” Ginny said. “A lot more kids shout ‘the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell’ at random times, and the bathrooms are about a thousand times shittier, so there’s that. Also, the grading scale is way harder.”

“How so?” Luna asked curiously. Her voice was so fluent; Ginny had noticed that she never stumbled over her words. 

“Uh, well here you have to get a ninety-three percent to get an A, and at least a ninety for an A-minus,” she said. “In Britain, an A is usually anything seventy or above.”

Neville’s eyes widened to the size of bowling balls. “SEVENTY PERCENT?! Here that’s barely a C-minus.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit,” Seamus concurred.

She shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“I think that grading scale would be much more beneficial to help students learn,” Luna remarked. “I know lots of kids here get worse grades simply because they’re so stressed about getting good grades. It’s kind of funny when you think about it.”

“Huh, yeah,” Ginny agreed. It was impossible for her not to, she believed every word that came out of Luna’s mouth. The way she picked all the perfect words effortlessly and strung them together flawlessly was admirable.

“Hey, Ginny!” She heard a familiar voice approach her.  _ Oh no _ . 

“What do you want, Ron?” She asked, looking up at her brother.

He smiled. “Mum wanted me to remind you that you're not allowed to hang out with anyone after school today. The terms and conditions are still undecided, but you are decidedly grounded for two weeks.”

Ginny flushed red. “Ron!” Did he really have to remind her of this in front of these people she had just become friends with?

“It’s not even that bad, but you do have to be home on time every day this week, at least,” Ron said.

“But I have ‘soccer’ tryouts on Friday,” Ginny complained, angrily putting finger quotations around the word soccer to show her discontent with the word. It was called football.

“Not my problem,” Ron said, walking away.

“You're trying out for the soccer team?” Seamus immediately perked up. 

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “I played a lot back in England. I’d like to say I’m fairly good at it.”

Seamus beamed, “That’s awesome. Soccer is super fucking cool.”

“Wait, I thought you were a hockey fan,” Neville frowned. “Since when do you like soccer?”

Ginny swore in her head. If anyone used the word soccer one more time she might actually explode.

“What, I can’t like both!” Seamus defended himself, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Sure, I prefer hockey because I  _ play _ hockey. We do live in Minnesota, it’s only the most popular sport in the state.”

_ Ew,  _ Ginny thought. She couldn’t fathom why anyone would prefer hockey, which was basically just a bunch of guys knocking each other's teeth out with blades strapped to their feet, over football, the most wonderful sport in the world. She definitely couldn’t see how an entire state liked hockey better. Ginny also found it a little ironic that Seamus, who apparently had an aptitude for setting fires, enjoyed hockey, a sport played on ice.

“But,” he continued, “just because hockey will always be my favorite, doesn’t mean I don’t like soccer too.”

“Seems more like you like soccer players to me, Seamus,” Luna said.

He squinted at her. “What do you know?” He asked like a detective on a cheesy crime show.

“I’m very intuitive,” She replied. Ginny took notice of the way Luna’s silvery eyes glittered with intelligence. 

“Okay…” Seamus replied, not actually knowing how to reply. “If you snitch, there will be hell to pay, just FYI.”

Ginny and Neville glanced at each other, both confused. Ginny was relieved that Neville also didn’t know what they were talking about, so it wasn’t just some joke she wasn’t a part of. Then again, Neville didn’t seem to know what people were talking about most of the time anyway. 

One thing Ginny definitely didn’t understand is why Neville was so shocked that Seamus liked football. It was only the greatest sport in the world. If Ginny couldn’t play it, she honestly didn’t know what she would do with her life. It was just so much fun, and the feeling of victory after demolishing another team wasn’t too horrible either. It had always been the best part of Ginny’s day, and it was still going to be, even if she had to call it “soccer,” which was a stupid, stupid, stupid word. Ginny wondered what would happen if she didn’t make the team, which was a ridiculous thought since she was one of the best players at her old school. But this school could be better. Would she be able to spend the season watching matches and daydreaming about kicking the ball into the goal herself? Would she just have to go curl up in a hole somewhere and die? And what would her new friends think of her? After all, she had already told them she was good, so there was no backing out now. Not to mention, Fred and George would be on her case for ages because American “soccer” teams were terrible. And Luna would be so not impressed. Ginny’s mind was running a mile a minute, playing out all the terrible scenarios. She could trip over the ball or accidentally score in the wrong goal. It wasn’t so far-fetched, she hadn’t practiced in a while. All summer she had been sulking over the fact that she couldn’t play, and now that she knew she actually could she might not make it? That didn’t seem fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, I know it was basically just more exposition, trust me, at some point shit will go down, but not yet. Also, I think the next two chapters or so will probably be a little shorter than this one. At least, that's what will happen if things go exactly according to plan, but like, who knows? things change?


	4. I Absolutely Demolish Harry Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flipping her mind into high gear, Ginny got her feet moving. Her cleats hit the turf in perfect rhythm, each step stronger than the next. Pretty soon she was flying down the field, right on Tall Boy’s heels. He made a quick maneuver, attempting to pass the ball, but Ginny was quicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, enjoy! I'm tired its like 2:30 am and i should really be studying for my chemisty final lmao pls comment.

Ginny spent a fair amount of time pondering her gayness, as well as the fact that nobody else knew about it, which sometimes felt odd because it was so blatantly obvious to her. Consequently, she also spent a fair amount of contemplating how someday everyone would know, and how she was going to have to tell them. Even when this wasn’t what she was actually thinking about, it was always there in the back of her mind, poking at every present thought with a stick. A sharp, pokey, irritating stick. It was  _ so _ annoying. 

However, racing down the field, closing in of her opponent (in this case, a tall girl with a short blonde ponytail), her mind was wonderfully void of any conscience thoughts at all. That was the best thing about soccer—the only thing to worry about was the ball and how she was going to get it to that goal. Okay, she was also regretting not wearing leggings because it was way too cold and windy outside for shorts, but usually, that wasn't an issue. 

Left foot, right foot, left foot, Ginny dribbled the ball between her feet, scanning the field for an open player with a red jersey. The coaches had split them into two teams, and, to Ginny’s despair, she had been put on the team that has to wear those gross mesh tank top jerseys from P.E. classes that always reek as if thousands of teenage boys had sweated in them (which was most likely actually true). These ones were red. 

She spotted a boy, fashionably sporting one of said red jerseys, who was strides ahead of the girl who was supposed to be blocking him. Ginny quickly kicked the ball in his direction and continued to make her way downfield. 

On the outskirts of the field, she saw Draco sulking. He must’ve already gotten out, to Ginny’s amusement. It wasn’t every day one can see the total jackass fail at something and not be able to buy his way back in. It was an incredibly gratifying and heart-warming feeling.

The boy she’d passed to was relatively good at steering the ball away from other players, but the rest of the red team wasn’t paying much attention. A suspiciously blonde girl was picking at her fingernails and a guy who clearly had no socks on scrolled through his phone. Several other members were staring philosophically into the distance, though Ginny suspected the only thing they were contemplating was what they were going to have for dinner. Ginny couldn’t blame them, it had been ages since lunch and she was also super hungry. She hoped there would be mac and cheese for dinner. Ooh, or maybe pizza! 

Ginny realized she was getting distracted, too. The ball had been stolen from the tall boy by the other team, and he was almost to their side of the field, which is exactly what Ginny didn’t want. She was no defensive player, but she was no loser either.

Flipping her mind into high gear, Ginny got her feet moving. Her cleats hit the turf in perfect rhythm, each step stronger than the next. Pretty soon she was flying down the field, right on Tall Boy’s heels. He made a quick maneuver, attempting to pass the ball, but Ginny was quicker.  Her instincts kicked in; she didn’t even know what she was doing, but what else was new? She blocked the ball, caught an awkward second of eye contact with Tall Boy, and she was off. Back to dribbling. Her mind fell back into its rhythm, and her feet fell back in line. 

Problem Detected: Opposing team’s midfield and defensive players have formed a sufficient blockage. No one on the red team was open, and there was no way Ginny was going to get the ball to the goal by herself. Ginny tried to think up a solution.

_ Uhhhhhhh _ , she thought. System Failure. Refresh. System Failure.

Ginny wasn’t great at on the spot troubleshooting, but she had about 0.1 seconds to figure something out. 

She pinpointed a red jersey that wasn’t even vaguely near open and kicked the ball their way. The red jersey didn’t get it or even notice it at all. Instead, players from both teams scrambled for the ball, but Ginny didn’t wait to see who had emerged victorious. She ran around them, closing in near the goal, and sure enough, the ball came in her direction. Just as fast, the other team's defense player, a girl with a long braid down her back, blocked it. 

Ginny caught the ball in the last second, stopping it from shooting back to midfield. Coincidentally, she almost tripped herself in the process and had accidentally threatened the girl with the braid. 

For a good few seconds, Ginny and Braid Girl engaged in a game of foot chess. A series of short dribbles in every which direction by the both of them to keep the ball out of the other’s hands. Much like what probably happens in real chess (Ginny personally found chess boring) neither was capable of safely getting the ball past the other. With no one near to pass it to, and no good shot, Ginny was getting fed up with foot chess. It was almost as tedious as real chess looked, and just like real chess, Ginny wasn’t good at it. 

She couldn’t see past Braid Girl, so she kicked the ball. She kicked the ball hard and shut her eyes tight. They don’t call it a trust shot for nothing.

“I cannot believe you made that shot!” The boy she had passed the ball to enthusiastically congratulated her, shaking her shoulder. 

“I-uh… sorry?” Ginny’s head felt super heavy. For a few seconds, her vision had blacked out.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Oh,” she blinked hard, reviving her eyes. “Yeah, I had no clue what I was doing. You were pretty good out there too, for the record.”

The boy smirked, “Well, that’s good news. It would be pretty embarrassing if I tanked it; my friend Seamus came to watch.” He pointed over Ginny’s shoulder. Turning her head, she waved at her slightly pyromaniac-ish friend.

He was sitting up in the bleachers, grinning from ear to ear despite the fact that he was alone. Probably finishing up some homework, indicated by the notebook he had with him. With mittens, a thick sweater, and a hat, Seamus sure knew how to dress for the cold. He waved back at Ginny ecstatically.

“I actually met Seamus a little while ago,” Ginny explained. “In… well, in detention.”

“Wow, you sure are making a reputation for yourself—wait,” he stopped himself mid-sentence. “You’re the girl who beat up Malfoy, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’d be me,” she said. 

“Dean Thomas, honored to meet you,” He offered his hand.

“Ginny Weasley, and the honor,” she shook his hand, “is all mine. I’m guessing that you are the friend whose toilet paper roll he accidentally set fire to?”

“Oh, he told you about that, did he? Not going to lie, I am a little surprised he disclosed that secret. It wasn’t exactly his proudest moment.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed, contemplating the fact that Seamus had somehow managed to set a roll of toilet paper on fire on  _ accident _ . She still couldn’t manage to wrap her brain around it. “I think he only really told me that to convince me that he wasn’t an arsonist.”

Ginny realized that didn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, sounds like Seamus,” Dean said, not even questioning it. He and Seamus must have been friends for a very long time.

The tall boy from the other team approached them, jogging up with a wonky grin. As he ran his loose curls bounced atop his head. He looked like the kind of person teachers hated with a passion but secretly loved.

“Hey, I’m Harry, one of this year's captains,” he greeted Ginny. “You really crushed it out there. I mean, you beat me out, and I’m pretty awesome.” 

“Hey,” Dean waved his hand, indicating his existence.

“Oh, hey, Dean,” Harry said absently, not even turning his head. “So, what’s your name?”

“Ginny. And I swear I’ve heard about you somewhere. Do we have any classes together?”

“No, I’m just super-cool,” he said haughtily. Ginny couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or if he was actually a total narcissist. “You’ve probably heard my name around school due to my vast popularity.”

Dean snorted. “He’s joking. Over half the school can’t stand him.” 

“Hey, two-thirds. Don’t underestimate me, Dean.”

“Dude, you just got destroyed by a  _ Junior _ in tryouts, and you’re a captain,” he teased, raising his hand to Ginny for a high-five, which she confidently slapped hard enough to make her hand tingle. “I have every right to underestimate you.”

Ginny was charmed my Dean’s insult. She was the Junior who beat a captain in tryouts, which is pretty badass. They weren’t joking when they said Americans suck at football. She tried her very best to conceal her delight, although she was surprisingly terrible at concealing things. Happiness, fury, pimples, she couldn’t keep any of them covered up. It was truly a miracle that she had managed to stay in the closet for this long. Blending a dab of concealer over a zit was too difficult for Ginny, and yet all that lesbianism was invisible to the world around.  _ Or maybe it isn’t and I’m only fooling myself _ , Ginny considered. She didn’t know if that would be a horrendous curse or a miracle from heaven.

 

After a while, people began to filter out. The Seniors disappeared first since all of them either have a car or have a friend with a car. A few of the other Juniors were also able to drive themselves home. Freshman tended to travel in large packs, something Ginny picked up on quickly, so almost all them carpooled. After a while, the Sophomores left one by one, about half of them on bikes. After a while, Ginny was pretty much alone, aside from one or two kids sitting around on their phones. This is what she gets for asking Ron to come pick her up. Her brother wasn’t exactly known for his punctuality. 

Brainlessly strolling around the field, Ginny checked her text messages for the seventh time. Still no signal from Ron. Lifting her eyes from the screen, she noticed Seamus was still sitting up in the bleachers.

“Hey Seamus,” Ginny bounced up the clanky metal steps, “mind if I sit here?”

“Take a seat,” he responded.

“So, are you like a huge football fan or just a god-tier friend?” she asked curiously. “Because I have gone through several rounds of tryouts, and never has anyone come to watch their friends.”

Seamus contemplated the question for a moment. “I dunno. I just kind of wanted to take the opportunity to do some homework, and it helps me focus if I’m outside.” 

Ginny glanced down at the open notebook in Seamus’ lap. “You have a major procrastination problem if that’s your homework. It’s just covered in doodles of little hearts and stuff.”

“No it’s not,” Seamus retorted, slamming his notebook shut and pushing it to the side.

Ginny cracked a smile. “Okay, okay, you caught me,” he admitted. “I do procrastinate everything. I’m already like forty pages behind on the reading for English and I wouldn’t be able to figure chem out if my life depended on it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone understands chemistry,” Ginny agreed. “Physics was way better.”

“Absolutely not!” Seamus almost yelled. “Chemistry has interesting labs at least, even if it is more confusing than the history of the Soviet Union.”

“What does that even mean?” she laughed. “‘More confusing than the history of the Soviet Union?’”

“I took AP Euro last year,” he explained. “I nearly failed it, too. The Soviet Union is the bane of my existence. It's a left-wing dictatorship that’s actually kind of a right-wing dictatorship, and it's communist but it’s also kind of super capitalist, but their main philosophy was that capitalism is actually just the devil trying to control mankind. It makes no sense at all.”

“Right….Well, they say you learn something new every day.”

“So, how were your tryouts,” Seamus asked.

Ginny’s toes tingled. She was waiting for someone, anyone to ask that. Bragging wasn’t a quality she necessarily wanted to be associated with, but she couldn’t help but be happy when something goes just as perfectly as expected, if not more. Ginny hoped she didn’t come off as showboating. Now it was time to showboat.

“I mean, I did outplay Harry Potter, who is apparently a captain,” she grinned, talking a mile a minute. “It was so crazy. Like, I had no clue what I was even doing. My feet just went into autopilot and did exactly what they needed to. Then I ran into some trouble, and there was like no way out of it, so I just kicked the ball and prayed with every fiber of my being that I didn’t miss and I actually didn’t which is absolutely insane.”

“Oh, I remember that! Dude, that’s sick,” Seamus said. “You can definitely keep flaunting that for a couple weeks before it gets old. Is that why Dean gave you that high-five?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “Geez, you really don’t miss anything from up here.”

“Well, can you blame me? You saw all that homework that I didn’t get done,” he said. “Besides, a high-five from Dean… you should consider yourself very lucky. I have high-fived him several times, and let me tell you, he never misses. I think he really takes that trick where you look at the other person’s elbow to heart.”

Ginny could see why Seamus and Dean made such good friends. Seamus seemed to have an odd brand of peppy cynicism that was perfectly balanced by Dean’s overpowering sweetness (even his insults seemed to radiate warm fuzzies). Not to mention, Dean seemed like an extremely trustworthy person when it came to putting out fires. Ginny had nearly started a fire on the field before he was able to get open. Without him, she probably would’ve taken that hopeless shot a lot earlier, and failed miserably, at that. Seamus, quite obviously, started a lot of fires. Literally and figuratively. Well, maybe not figuratively, but with the number of real-life fires he had accidentally started, Ginny found it incredibly difficult to image he hadn’t accidentally caused any other kind of issue. 

“You’ll definitely have a lot of fun playing with him this year,” Seamus continued, “I think that’s safe to say since you definitely made the team. Dean is really good, too. Maybe not as good as you, don’t tell him I said that, but he’s really good. I’d love to have a boyfriend like him.”

_ Wait, WHAT!?  _

Ginny felt as if she had just taken a gargantuan slurp of strawberry milkshake. 

Brainfreeze.

He could just be joking. But he could be dead serious. If he was dead serious, what would that mean? Ginny had never had other gay friends before, only random strangers she could admire from afar. If Seamus was gay, would that mean that he knew she was too. She probably had a giant flashing gaydar on her head. Gaydar is a term used to describe the ability of LGBT+ people to identify others. Several straight people also claim to have this superpower, but they are bold-faced liars and they know it. Ginny didn’t have this power, or her’s was simply feeble. Seamus was still talking; he had somehow bridged from football to how the romanticization of vampires was stupid (he wasn’t wrong). She hadn’t heard a word he’d said, her mind just kept replaying that one line, like a broken record. It felt like someone had hypnotized her. She felt a peculiar combination of extreme anxiety and just straight up weird.

“And that’s why you should never watch any of the Twilight movies.”

“You like boys?” Ginny blurted. She felt blood rush to her face,  regretting that choice of words immediately.

“Yeah,” Seamus said. “Did I not mention that earlier?”

“Uh, no…” she should’ve planned this out better. She should plan a lot of things out better, homework schedule, weekend plans, a lot of things. This conversation, though, this one takes the cake for the worst instinct decision. Ginny had literally no idea why she’d said anything at all, aside from the fact that the little voice in her head said she should. She could feel her face getting hotter. “No, you didn’t.”

He fiddled with his mittens. “That’s not like… a problem for you, is it?”

“What? No! No.”  _ Okay, on the bright side, he doesn’t think you’re gay. _

“Okay. Good.”

Neither of them spoke. 

This was super weird. Ginny had never been in this position. She twirled a lock of her hair through her fingers. Silence. She glanced down at her feet, cleats still on. More silence. Ginny checked her phone again, still no text from Ron. Where was an out when you need one?

The silence began to weigh down on the two of them. Ginny’s leg shook a bit, Seamus spun his pencil around.

Still, neither spoke.

“I like girls,” Ginny said. Her face was now as red as her hair. She gripped the hem of her shirt as if it was keeping her from floating away.  _ Well,  _ now _ he thinks you’re gay. _

“Oh, uh, cool,” Seamus smiled.

Ginny refused to tear her eyes away from her shoes. “Yeah,” she said.  _ Damage control! Damage control! _ “But, you can’t, like, tell anyone. Not because—just because—you know.”

“Scouts honor,” he promised.

Even more silence.

This was super awkward.

Ginny attempted a subject change, “So when Luna was saying she was intuitive, was she talking about—”

“Me being gay,” Seamus almost laughed. “What like gaydar? That wouldn’t take much intuition, most people already know, if they actually know who I am. Plus, if they didn’t know, Luna wouldn’t tip anyone off like that. She may not understand most social cues, but she understands basic human decency better than most people. Nah, she was talking about specifically Dean. We’ve been best friends since we were, like, six months old. If he ever knew I actually  _ like _ liked him, my life would be, like, over.”

“That’s rough,” Ginny said. “If it helps I can trip him during our first practice.”

He frowned. “That would not be helpful at all, but please do it.”

“It’s done,” she snorted. 

It felt super weird, having someone know. Ginny couldn’t shake that awkward feeling that she’d done something wrong. She could think of several situations where this turned out badly for her. Seamus could accidentally tell someone, someone could have overheard them talking on the bleachers, perhaps the FBI agent watching her through her phone camera was listening in on them and was about to out her to the entire US government. But Ginny didn’t think that any of those reasons were why she was worried. It was something else, if only she could put her finger on it. She had expected telling someone to be like turning on the headlights, but she still felt like she was driving in the dark with nothing to stop her from crashing into a tree. They don’t call it a trust shot for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading im going to sleep and them im going to study


	5. I Draw A Frog Only Slightly Less Atrocious Than Neville's Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny knew she should’ve been ecstatic or regretful or having a revelation of sorts, but instead she was just going about her Monday like any other. She had hit snooze on her alarm seven times before getting up, eaten a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and gotten on the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is chapter 5. I honestly think I was drunk while writing this because I don't remember half of it. (not literally). Feel free to comment, I love constructive criticism maybe even more than compliments so please tell me whatever you honestly thought of this. I'm not joking, I won't take anything offensively, this is like the first proper thing I've written aside from my english class essays.

“Hey, Gin,” Ron said, pushing the passenger's door open for her.

“Hi. Ron,” she forced the words out of her mouth like they were computer commands.

Ron furrowed his brow, taking a second to check on her out of the corner of his eye before he turned his attention to the road. “Is something up?”

“What? No. Why would you think that?” Ginny attempted to barricade herself with her speech. It was always cars. They were always the place people felt the most comfortable with starting needlessly uncomfortable situations. Cars were small and enclosed and inescapable when going sixty miles an hour down the highway, forcing a sort of intimacy. At the same time, safe driving practices made it so no eye contact was required, as the driver must keep their eyes on whats ahead of them. This provided an emotional distance between people, making the moment less intense for whoever was initiating the conversation in the first place. Ginny had cracked this code a long time ago. Ginny hated cars.

“By now you should be yelling at me for being late,” he replied matter-of-factly, stepping on the gas as the turned onto the main road.

He was right. Under normal circumstances, she would be going off with a list of tasks she could have completed by now had he been on time, demanding where he’d been, maybe even calling him Ronald— _OH MY GOD, AM I MY MOTHER?_ That was a horrifying thought. Ginny pushed it far away; it was a problem for another day. Ron was right, she would be angry if she didn’t have bigger fish to fry, a figure of speech that refers to how Ginny had more important things to do and to think about than her brother picking her up late for soccer tryouts. She had yet to finish that poem for English class, she forgot to do the dishes the night before, and she had voluntarily outed herself to a boy she barely knew for no good reason whatsoever.

Yeah. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Ginny was beginning to think that maybe she should’ve chosen a different approach. For instance, not telling Seamus. Ever. Then again, countered the right side of her brain, you just came out to someone and it went well! And you have a gay friend! Gay like you! Gay! Gay! Gay!

Ginny’s head repeated the word gay so many times it didn’t even sound like a word to her anymore, just an ominous jumble of sounds.

“Nope,” she lied. “Nothing’s up.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Ron slammed on the breaks, causing both him and Ginny to jerk forward. Usually, she would have made a comment along the lines of “ _Jesus, are you trying to get rear-ended?_ ” But she didn’t. “So, how were tryouts.”

Tryouts! She had completely forgotten about tryouts.

“Good,” Ginny said statically. “ _Actually_ , they were really good. I think. Maybe.”

She did do really good if she was remembering correctly. But was she?

Ron sighed. “I don’t understand you,” he chuckled, turning the radio on.

 _Yeah, no shit._ Not that it was necessarily his fault. Ginny didn’t think anyone understood her. Hell, she didn’t even understand her. Almost every teenager feels this way to some extent, but this was little to her knowledge.

“Oh, before I forget,” he proceeded. “Mum and dad finally decided the conditions of your grounding.”

“Lay it on me,” she said, rolling her eyes. Exhaustion is a well-known side effect of physical exercise. Ginny was much too exhausted from soccer tryouts to even argue about her grounding.

“One: no staying out past midnight.”

Already an unofficial rule. Maybe being grounded wouldn’t be so bad.

“Two: no boys allowed in your bedroom.”

Ginny laughed a little. That was _definitely_ not a problem for her. Obviously.

“Three: no devices in your room after ten o’clock.”

Now, Ginny laughed a lot. “That’s a joke right.” No response. “Ron, this _is_ a joke, right?………. That is so unfair! All my homework is on my computer. My fucking alarm is on my phone. How am I supposed to do anything?”

“I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them,” he turned the music up.

“Right, like you’re such a good rule-follow—is this country?” Ginny nearly gagged.

Ron ignored her, meaning that, yes, it was country, and no, he was not going to change the station. No matter how completely, thoroughly, utterly, gut-wrenchingly, and downright horrific was, no matter how much blood streamed from Ginny’s ears, he was the one who got to pick the music. After all, he was driving.

 

Ginny knew she should’ve been ecstatic or regretful or having a revelation of sorts, but instead she was just going about her Monday like any other. She had hit snooze on her alarm seven times before getting up, eaten a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and gotten on the bus. It was as if coming out to Seamus, a boy she had only known for about a week, had been an acid trip hallucination. She knew it should’ve been all she was thinking about, and it probably would’ve been, but the football team was to be posted today. All weekend, Ginny had been pacing the floors, stressing about whether she’d made it or not. It would be ridiculous if she didn’t make it, of course, because that one play of hers was so good. The thing is, it was _one_ play. Aside from that, she’d been distracted, she’d practically tripped over the ball at one point, and she’d probably come off as a total numbskull. Anyone could tell that one good play was dumb luck. And the line-up was going to be posted on the bulletin board today for everyone to see the absence of the name Ginny Weasley.

“Hello, Ginny,” a sweet voice greeted her upon entering the art room.

“Luna!” _Oh, shit_ , Ginny thought. In all her worry about football, she had also forgotten she had first period with a really, really, _reeaaally_ cute girl. With a paintbrush tucked behind her ear, Luna was delicately sketching on her canvas. Her pencil followed in line with the motion of her wrist. Her polka-dotted skirt floated just above her knees. Her glossy lips were slightly pursed in concentration, and she radiated beauty.

Ginny looked like an absolute mess. When she had finally gotten out of bed, she had only five minutes to spare before the bus left, so she was dressed in a pair of clearly worn out leggings and a football team sweater from her eighth year. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun—and not the cute kind, the rat’s nest kind.

“What are you drawing?” Ginny inquired, sweeping a few stray hairs into place, not that it made much of a difference. She was genuinely curious; it wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before. It resembled a baby rhinoceros (which were, in Ginny’s opinion, super adorable), but had an odd horn that was much too large for a baby, and bigger ears as well. “Is it a rhino?”

“No, silly,” Luna giggled, “This is the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. It’s quite the beautiful creature, indigenous to Sweden. This one is just a little baby.”

Ginny smiled in reply—“It’s so cute,” she said,—though she understood very little of what Luna had just said.

“Yes, it is cute, isn’t it,” Luna agreed. “Personally, I like it the best out of the lot, though I do find the wrackspurts captivating, as well. You’ve probably never seen a wrackspurt before, they’re invisible to the human eye. They can be bothersome, though, with their tendency to get into people’s heads, literally, and make them unfocused. I don’t think they’re that bad, just misunderstood.”

These creatures were something that Ginny’s own imagination could not wrap itself around, and she had been firmly convinced that vampires were real throughout all of third and fourth grade. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and wrackspurts were just impossible, but she found some part of herself believing in them. Maybe it appealed to a sense of nostalgia from her childhood, when magic really was real, or maybe it was because they were so ridiculous sounding that they couldn’t be made up. After all, next to the submarine sized lobsters on the bottom of the ocean and whatever other crazy undiscovered things lay down there, were these animals Luna spoke of so insane? Of course, it could just be that she was hearing this from Luna. It’s not like she could help it; the sound of her light, airy voice was like music to Ginny’s ears. She could listen to her talk all day long, and she would be content.

“What about you, Ginny?” she asked. “What animal are you drawing?”

She looked down at her own scribbly drawing, which looked more like a blob than anything else. “It’s supposed to be a frog, but it loos more like... I don't even know—just a shitty frog,” she yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, I’m tired. First hour, y’know. Anyway, I think I may be able to salvage it if I make it into a gecko or something. I could still get my B+.”

“No! It’s a good frog,” Luna protested. “It’s a little funny looking, but if it looked like all the others it would just be boring, wouldn’t it? I mean, with all the other frog paintings out there, if yours looked like everyone else’s, they wouldn’t be able to tell yours apart. Also, Ms. Burbage tends to grade on completion, so you’ve practically got an A in the bag.”

“Right,” Ginny agreed, smiling a little. Under the heat of Luna’s attention, Ginny felt completely flustered and was worried that her face had gone pink. She didn’t know how to comprehend the conversation, though she supposed Luna defending her shitty frog was probably a good sign. “Hey, maybe if you wanted to, like, give me some art tips sometime, or if you, maybe, just want to, like…  hangout outside of school or something, or just… I was thinking we could maybe exchange numbers?”

 _I definitely said “like” way too many times in that sentence_ , Ginny thought.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Luna exclaimed, setting down her pencil, and removing herself from drawing. “Unfortunately, I don’t have my phone with me. I accidentally dropped it into the sink the other day, and it most likely won’t be recovered until after six o’clock tonight. I can give you my number, and you could text me later so I have yours.”

“Yeah, that’ll work.” One good thing about being gay is that when you ask for someone you like’s number, it won’t actually look like you like them. It’ll look like your just trying to be gal pals.

For a little while, they went back to work. Luna sketched and erased and re-sketched and traced like clockwork. The table around her had become littered with eraser dust, and she had graphite smears all up to her wrist. Melodies of pencils slowly dragging across canvas was like steady white noise, and Ginny felt like she was dozing off. With all her stress over football, she hadn’t gotten much of a goodnight’s sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy and her whole body felt weak. She rested her head in her palms. It’s not like it would hurt anyone if she just shut her eyes for a second or two.

“Ginny, wake up,” someone grabbed her shoulder. “It’s time to go, come on.”

She blinked. _Where am I?_ _What’s happening?_

“Ginny,” said Luna. “C’mon class is over.”

 _Ugh, school._ “Coming,” she groggily replied, heaving herself out of her seat. The fact that history of all things was her next class wasn’t doing much to motivate her.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were tired,” she observed. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Dunno,” Ginny shrugged. “Four hours? I tried to go to bed early, but I just wasn’t able to fall asleep.”

“Why? What is it that you’re so nervous about?”

Luna was reading her like a book; she seriously was intuitive. Ginny wondered what else Luna was able to tell about— _nope_ , Ginny was too tired to worry about that today.

“Football tryouts,” she confessed. “They post the results today, and I think I did pretty well, but there may be a chance that I actually screwed myself royally.”

“I’m sure you did wonderfully. Even if you did do terribly, Draco Malfoy tries out every year and never makes the team, so I’m sure you looked very good in comparison to him.”

Ginny snorted. In good, if not somewhat harsh humor, she felt some of the weight lifted off her shoulders. She didn’t think Luna intended to be funny, but her flighty bluntness was absolutely adorable. Luna was absolutely adorable.

“Wait, look at me,” Luna said, stopping them on their way out the door. “You have—” she gently brushed her thumb over Ginny’s cheek “—an eyelash.” She held the fiber up for her to see. “Make a wish.”

Ginny blushed profusely and thought of only one thing as she closed her eyes and blew the eyelash away.

“Don’t tell me what you wished for,” she said. “Or else it won’t come true.”

“Okay.” Ginny touched her fingertips to her cheek, which was still tingling. She understood now why those little boys in cartoons would claim they were never washing that part of their face again.

  


_The Holy Evening, unholy will be_

_And Thanksgiving will become two dates_

_The plan fails, for secrets are not the key_

_The following events will fold to fate_

 

Neville re-folded the parchment in his hands and bashfully looked up at his fellow classmates. They were confused, which Ginny understood, but she couldn’t be one to judge. At least Neville had a poem. She had forgotten about the English homework entirely, which was ten formative points down the drain.

“It was, uh, like the only thing I could think of that rhymed,” explained Neville. “Everything else sounded like it was written by a seven-year-old.”

“No, no need to explain, Neville,”  Mr. Lupin said. “Sometimes the most interesting poems are the ones that are confusing, even if they are a little juvenile.”

He nodded awkwardly and walked back to his seat as Lupin let the next student take the stage. Raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together, Neville made a face of sheer embarrassment as he took his seat across from Ginny. Not fully engaged in the moment, she gave him a half-reassuring shrug.

“Ginny, would you like to present your poem?” said Lupin.

“Oh, I actually…” Ginny was a terrible liar, “Um, my dog peed on my copy of it.”

“I do accept late work,” he said. “Just so you know. If you’re having any trouble just think of something or someone that’s important to you. Perhaps your dog?”

“Yeah, maybe.” _No way,_ Ginny thought. She could hardly write normal sentences, let alone poetry. She didn’t even have a dog, and she was _not_ writing about her brother’s stupid rat or any of her brothers for that matter.

Of course, there was Luna.

 _Which would probably ensure that she never speaks to me again._  This wasn’t Dead Poets Society, and poetry could only woo women if you actually knew how to write it.

She figured she could write about her mom and still get the ten formative points.

 

When the bell rang, Ginny had to use every ounce of will in her body to not sprint to the bulletin board. Her feet barely even hit the ground beneath her, she was bouncing with anticipation. Dragging behind her was Neville. She had an iron grip on his arm and was pulling him down the hallway.

“So,” Neville said, as he stumbled along, trying his hardest not to trip. “Why are we running again?”

“Speed walking,” Ginny corrected him. “And because, Neville, I need to know if I made the football team or not!”

She yanked his arm as they turned the corner. Across the cafeteria, a long, raven braid caught Ginny’s eye, and attached to it was a girl, on her tiptoes, pinning something up on the bulletin board.

“Come on!” she cut Neville loose, breaking into a run. The cafeteria was insanely crowded, packed to holding capacity with hungry teenagers. Ginny did her best to weave her way through, but she definitely shoved a couple of guys over in the process.

Hovering around the board was several faces Ginny recognized from tryouts, including Dean and Seamus. Draco wasn’t present. She almost felt bad for him. It was one thing to not make the team, but to feel so bad about your tryout that you don’t even bother to check the line-up? That was just sad. The girl with the braid was still struggling to reach high enough to tack the list up. The board was covered in posters and club sign-up sheets, so there was only one spot left.

“You sure you don’t want us to get you a chair or something to stand on, Cho?” Harry asked obligingly. He was casually leaning against the wall next to her.

“No, I’ve almost got it,” Cho grunted, stretching her arm out.

“Seriously?” Ginny blurted thoughtlessly. Posthaste, she slapped her hand over her mouth, but everyone had already turned their eyes towards her. She shifted her feet uncomfortably. “Sorry. Nerves.”

“Those must be some bloody nerves,” said Ron, appearing next to her.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she agreed. “Wait a second,” Ginny took a double take, “when did you get here? Why are you here?”

“I’ve been here this whole time,” he said, looking slightly offended. “And, I’m just waiting for Harry.”

The captain, who must’ve heard them, looked up smiled; Ron waved back.

“You’re telling me that your new BFF from ceramics is football captain? You didn’t think of perhaps mentioning this to me?”

“Woah! Chill out a little.” He held up his hands as a yield sign. “And he’s only co-captain. You get touchy when you're nervous. There’s no way you didn’t make it, anyway, and I’m not just saying that because I have to. You’re probably better than George and _definitely_ better than Fred, and even they’ve never been cut from a team. Worst case scenario, you only make JV.”

“Yeah, with all the freshman,” she retorted, realizing it was a little harsh. Ginny hoped no freshman heard her.

“That’s not—”

A thud interrupted Ron’s thought, as well as all other surrounding conversations. Cho had landed triumphantly on her feet, “Got it.”

Ginny was practically jumping out of her shoes, trying to get a look at the list. All of her morning exhaustion had disappeared. She could feel the anticipation in her throat. Just in front of her, she saw Dean circle away from the board with a grin on his face. Her turn.

Top of the line-up were the varsity captains: Cho Chang and Harry Potter. No surprise that Cho was the other captain, at tryouts almost half the goals scored were hers. Varsity was listed below. First on the list was Cedric Diggory, whom she remembered from tryouts on account of how _super_ hot he was. Ginny was obviously not interested, but she could see why all the hetero girls swooned over him. Next was Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet, who were practically inseparable. Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote. Over halfway down and her name still wasn’t found. Jeremy Stretton, Jason Samuels. It was getting close. Miles Bletchley. Dean Thomas. No wonder Dean had been so excited. According to Seamus he’d played on JV last year. But, that made ten. She felt her stomach tighten, did she dare look?

  1. Ginny Weasley.



She felt her shoulders ease, and the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. It felt silly that she’d been so nervous.

Alicia and Angelina were gushing over how proud they were of Katie, who was clearly embarrassed. Jeremy and Jason casually fist-bumped and broke into a Parent Trap style secret handshake. Dean Thomas was still grinning as he eagerly told his best friend that he’d made varsity. Seamus nodded along and offered a congratulatory high five, which Dean must’ve misinterpreted, as he went in for a hug. Frozen, Seamus shot Ginny a shocked “ _What do I do?_ ” face, to that she replied with an “ _Alright, Seamus, get it_ ” nod. Where had Neville gone? Ginny needed someone to over-enthusiastically brag to. She was about to go join conversation Harry, Ron, and Cho when he came up behind her.

“Dude, where have you been?” she said, laughing a little. “It’s like you just disappeared off the face of the earth for three minutes.”

“Sorry, some yearbook people stopped me in the hallway. They needed my favorite cereal for one of their surveys or something,” Neville said. “Did you do it?”

“Yeah, I did!” she gloated.

“You made it?!” He beamed with pride.

“Yeah, I made it!” God, that felt good to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was it. thank you so much for reading. i feel like my notes always suck lmao. cool, bye

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 1. there are more chapters, and I will actually write them. I also have my own schoolwork and sports though, so I won't be cranking them out super quickly (I'm on the AP test grind rn).


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